


A Study in Sherlock

by 221B_M0riarty



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Greg is tired, Implied Relationships, John in Denial, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Mycroft Holmes Being Annoying, Past Drug Use, Past Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, Protective Mycroft, Sneaky Sherlock, poor Greg, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221B_M0riarty/pseuds/221B_M0riarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if John Watson had kept walking when Mike Stamford had called his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking up in London

            He woke up with a start.  He was sweating and felt dreadfully cold.  John closed his eyes tight, trying to remember what had woke him up in the first place, but all he could remember was loud sounds and noises.  Looking at the clock, it was 6:30 in the morning meaning he had only slept for a little over two hour and had to get up in three hours to go to meet someone for breakfast.  It was no use for him to go back to sleep, so he decided that he would make himself a cup of tea.  He nearly banged his hip into the desk when he tried to maneuver through his tiny flat.  It was all he could afford on his army pension but it would have to do until he could talk to the landlady, that had been an old friend of his mum's, again.  On the phone, she had said that she would give him a discount on his month's rent until he could find a job that paid more.

            After he finished his tea, he got dressed and decided to walk through the park while he waited.  Waling with his cane supporting his weight, it took him a good forty-five minutes to walk to the park that was near where he was going to meet the landlady.  He looked at his watch and realized he still had an hour until he had to meet her.

            He searched for a bench to rest his leg.  The one closest to him had someone sitting in it.  Looking closer, he realized he recognized its occupant.  He tried to act like he did not see him, but it was too late.

            "John?  John Watson, is that you?"  Mike Stamford bellowed at him.

            "Just pretend you didn't hear him.  Keep walking," John said to himself through gritted teeth.  It was not that he did not dislike Mike, in fact he was a pleasant person to be around.  But, ever since he had come back from war, people that he had known before he left just did not feel the same to him.  John walked faster, acting like he had not heard him.  Mike eventually stopped calling after him.

            John knew that he was going to be early, but he went to the cafe anyways.

...

            "What are you doing here, Mike?"  Sherlock said without even looking up from his microscope.

            "Turns out that he was there, exactly like you said," Mike said awkwardly standing near the edge of the table.

            "Obviously."

            "But, he didn't stop."

            "Hmm," Sherlock said only pretending to pay attention to what he was suppose to be analyzing, hoping that Mike would go away.  He had been vaguely interested when Mike told him the story about his friend that had just been discharged from the army.  Sherlock had thought he would have made a good flat mate, but he was over it now that Mike had not been able to get them to meet face to face.

            "You never told me his name."

            "Dr. John Watson, although I don't think it matters now, Sherlock"

...

            She had shown up exactly on time, but by that point John had enough coffee to make himself even more jittery than he already was.  He got up to shake her hand.

            "Nice to see you again, John," she greeted him as she moved to sit down across from him.

            "Likewise, Mrs. Hudson," he said smiling.

            "Now dearie, I know I promised you a flat, but it can't be that flat you saw last week"

            "221B Baker Street?  Why? "

            "Someone outbid you, but you can still take the basement one."

            "Can I at least talk to the person who outbid me?"  John did not want the basement one.  The one that he had looked at last week had been perfect in every way.

            "He is coming over today to move his stuff in.  You can see him then."


	2. Moving In

            John walked up the steps to the flat.  There were so many stairs and it was so hard to climb them with his cane that he almost reconsidered the basement flat.  But, he had come all this way to face the man that had stolen his flat from him.  When John had arrived to the flat, he had not seen a moving van, so he wondered if he was too late to ask the man to reconsider.  John knew it was stupid, but he still had some hope that if he talked to him, he would let him have the flat.

            He knocked on the door at the top of the stairs, hoping that someone would answer.

...

            "He wants to come by that flat."

            "How does he know that I'm moving in today?"

            "I told him, Sherlock.  I told him that he could have a home at Baker Street."

            "Mrs. Hudson, I asked not to be disturbed today," Sherlock said as he started to pace the room.  He was trying to solve a case for the police and he did not want to have to deal with some bloke who thought they were initialed to his flat.  If people would stop bugging him, he could have solve it two hours ago.

            The case was simple enough.  A women had been murdered in her office.  There were no windows and it was locked from the inside, but Sherlock was certain on how the perpetrator could have done it.  He just did not know who did it yet.  It was not her boss or the janitor, but—

            "Oh Sherlock, he's a nice boy.  Please don't be rude to him."

            "I won't," he lied.  Usually Sherlock would not have been that effected by something like this.  For some reason though, he was still irritated from being indirectly rejected by Dr. John Watson.  He was use to being alone and though that he preferred it.  But after five years of working as a consulting detective, he was afraid to admit that he was more lonely than he had ever been.

            "Sherlock, don't lie to me and please be nice.  John has been having a tough time since he left the war."

            A John that had recently gotten back to London from the army?  This had to be a coincidence, although, as Sherlock knew, there were no such thing.  He suddenly felt trapped.  He knew that John would be there within the next few hours, but he had to leave the flat.  He needed a good excuse to keep Mrs. Hudson from stopping John from leaving if John were to come by while he was out.

            "Sherlock, your phone."

            He had been so distracted that he had not realized that it had started ringing.  It was the movers, they had gotten lost.

            "Idiots," he mumbled to himself.  To Mrs. Hudson he said, "If John comes while I'm gone, please tell him I'll be back shortly."  Without waiting for a response, he bounded down the stairs and out into the street.

            He did not know where he was going, but then his phone suddenly started to ring again.  He looked to see who it was before he answered it.

            "Lestrade, what do you want?  Crime scene?  Or has my brother asked you to call?"

            "Just wanted to see if you got settled in all right.  Baker street flat, was it?"

            "What did Mycroft say?  You are starting to bore me."

            "Your brother texted me and told me that you were upset.  What happened?"

            Sherlock resisted the urge to throw his phone into the street.  His brother had been watching him on CCTV again.  He claimed he cared about him, but then spied on him and made Lestrade check up on him.

            "I'm fine," Sherlock replied quickly and then hung up.

...

            John knocked on the door again thinking that maybe he had not been heard the first time.  He could hear people inside.  There were enough for a party but it did not sound like a party.  Finally, a man with salt and pepper hair that was more white than black.

            "Are you the bloke who lives here?"  John asked a little unsure of himself.  Peering behind the man, he could see what looked like a police crime scene.  There were people with blue rubber gloves everywhere, searching for obviously something, but John did not know what.

            "No.  I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade.  Did you come here for the man that lives here?"

            "No, just for the flat."  The police were here, meaning that whoever lived here was in serious trouble after only a few hours of living in the flat.  Even though he really did like the flat, it was not worth that much to him.

            John turned to leave, but first added, "Can you not tell him that I was here?"

            "No problem."

            John limped back down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson's flat.  They had a short conversation, but in it John agreed to live in the basement flat.

            It took John two hours to pack his things and move into his new flat.  He was already unpacked when Sherlock stumbled up the stairs to 221B.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. The Stage is Being Set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drug and alcohol references in this chapter as well as a mention of Victor

            Sherlock stumbled over the threshold and almost onto the floor.  Even in his disheveled state, he could tell that Lestrade's team had been through his surprisingly moved in stuff.  He had been out trying to clear his head by walking, but when that did not work he thought of shooting up.  He had dismissed that idea when Mike had called to invite him to go to a pub for a pint.

            "Sherlock, have you been drinking?"  Greg asked him knowing that the answer was an obvious yes.

            "Geoffrey, do you really think that I, Sherlock Holmes, is drunk?"

            "Yes and you know my name," he was trying not to snap at him.

            "Then why did you ask if you are so clever," Sherlock said sitting down on the couch next to him.

            "Being polite.  Hoping that maybe you would tell the truth for once."

            Sherlock looked at him.  They were close enough for him to see how worn Greg really was.  The bags under his eyes were more prominent than they had been when Sherlock had seen him last.  He wanted to cry because he realized that he was the reason Greg was tired, but then he snapped out of it realizing there was no reason to cry.

            "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

            "Nothing."  He tried to get off the couch, but for some reason it was too hard for him to do.

            "Where have you been all night?  I thought you would have come back the first time I texted you that I was here."

            "With Mike.  We had a few."

            "Well obviously quite more than a few.  Is Mike your boyfriend?"

            "You are asking if he is like Victor."

            "Well, yes."

            "He is a friend," Sherlock said, emphasizing every syllable.

            "Sherlock, I just don't want to see you getting hurt.  Victor really took advantage of you when you two were together.  You came home every night high."

            "Did Mycroft send you?"

            "No, I was concerned.  But now that your here, I'm going home."  Greg got up to leave, grabbing his coat off of the coffee table.

            "You don't care that I was drinking?"

            "Your an adult Sherlock," he was about to leave but then he added, "If you were too drunk to notice though, I stayed here partially because before I conducted my raid for evidence on the case, your stuff showed up.  Nice of your landlady to already have some furniture here to begin with for you though."

            Sherlock waved goodbye as Greg shut the door.  After a solid ten minutes of trying to get to his bedroom, he eventually made it.

...

            John woke up the next morning feeling awful about having avoided Mike.  He gave him a call and they decided to meet for lunch at a place near John's flat.

            "I'm sorry I avoided you yesterday," John said once they had settled in across from one another.

            "It's okay, John.  I understand."

            That made John relax a little, but he was still on edge about his new neighbor.  He wanted to tell Mike, but he did not want him to worry about him.

            "So," Mike said changing the subject, "remember Molly Hooper from high school?"

            "Yeah," said John not knowing how this was relevant.

            "I saw her the other day because she works with a friend of mine and she said that she wanted to reconnect with you sometime."

            John remembered her.  She had always been shy, but she had opened up a little to John when her and Mike had briefly dated.  She had helped him through the time his sister went to rehab and when his mother died six months after that.  She had sent him a few letters when he went off to war, but they stopped when he stopped writing back.

            "Yeah, I'd like that."

            "I'll give you her number."

...

            Sherlock woke up a little after noon.  He felt fine enough until he stood up.  His head felt as if it had exploded into a million pieces and was desperately trying to put itself back together.  His throat felt like it was on fire from how dry it was and his whole body had a dull ache.  Putting his hands on either side of his head, he forced himself to walk to the shower.

...

**Friday 2:03 pm**

            Hey, its John from high school.  Mike gave me your number btw.

            -JW                                         

**Friday 2:10**

            John Watson!  How have you been?

-Molly                                   

**Friday 2:12**

            Fine.  You?  Want to meet up later?

-JW                                         

**Friday 2:22**

            I'm fine, thanks 4 asking.  I'll text you the address later.

-Molly                                   

...

            Sherlock decided that he would go to Barts since the pounding in his head was almost gone.  He walked into Barts to see Molly on her phone giggling.  She immediately stopped once she saw him, but Sherlock had already deduced who she had been texting.  The recipient of the texts was an old friend from high school, most likely male, and he had been out of her life for a number of years, but suddenly just appeared again.

            "Can I see the body of the woman again," Sherlock said in reference to his current case.

            "Sure," she replied sheepishly, "I'll leave to give you space."

            Sherlock looked what she was typing as she walked away.  On the line where it stated the recipient it read "John Watson."


	4. A Place to Meet

            When Molly returned, Sherlock had already found out what he needed and was prepared to leave.  He quickly texted Lestrade that he had solved the case and looked up to see Molly.  She was wearing lipstick now that she had not been wearing before.  He did not know why she kept trying to impress him with her appearance, he was obviously not interested in women.

            "Sherlock, are you finished?"

            "In a hurry to meet an old friend?"

            "Yes," she said nervously playing with her hair.  "You can come if you'd like."

            John would be there.  He knew that John probably would not know who he was, so it would be a great opportunity to get to know him with less awkwardness.  Maybe John Watson was also neighbor John?  Plausible, but then again John was not an uncommon name.

            "I'll have to change first.  Text me the address and I will be there in precisely one hour."

...

            John looked though his unpacked boxes of clothes to find something to wear.  He was not sure what type of bar he Molly had picked and did not want to be underdressed or overdressed.  He settled on his lucky oatmeal colored jumper and a pair of dark wash jeans.  It was a little nerve racking that he was going to meet with someone who he had known for a long time after not seeing her for years, but it was even worse that she said one of her friends along with her.

            He had decided that he would go the bar early just to be safe.  He ordered a pint before they got there in an attempt to calm his nerves, but it did not work.  Glancing around the bar, he felt lonely.  He was the only one without someone with him and it made him feel even more awkward than he actually looked.

            John's phone pinged and he picked it up to read a text from Molly.  She said that she would be a half an hour late because of work.  She then texted back ten minutes later that she would not be able to make it at all, but her friend would still be coming and to look for him instead.

...

            Sherlock dashed back to his flat in search of something to wear.  The bar that Molly had told him to go was less formal than the clothes he was wearing.  He took off the clothes and went for a deep purple button down, purposely not buttoning it up all the way, and tight fitting black jeans instead.  When he was almost certain that was what he wanted to wear, Molly called him.

            "Hello."

            _"Hey Sherlock.  Sorry to cancel, but I don't think that I'll be able to make it.  John can still go, if you want."_

"Tell him I will be there."

            _"Wait Sherlock- "_

Sherlock hung up the phone before Molly could finish.  He stopped by the bathroom before he left to double check to see if his hair looked okay and then went to down the steps and out into the night.  The air felt cool on his skin and made him shiver a little, but he decided that he could not be bothered with wasting the time it would take him to go back inside to get it.  He quickly hailed cab and gave the cabbie the address to the bar.

            He opened the doors to go inside and immediately he spotted John.  Everything that Mike had told him was true about him.  From the way he sat to how he cut his hair, Sherlock could see that he was even more interesting than he had been led to believe.  His hair was blonde, but it had started to fade making him look older than he really was.  He was short, but Sherlock could tell that it was misleading because his years in the army had made him a trained fighter.  His eyes were a deep blue and shown with wisdom that was beyond his years.  A cane lay against his chair which puzzled Sherlock.  John Watson did not need cane.

            _Probably psychosomatic._ Sherlock thought.

...

            _If he doesn't show up in five minutes._ John thought.  _I'm leaving._   As he thought that, someone tapped his shoulder.

            "The name is Sherlock Holmes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!


	5. A Drunken Night

            _He is so gorgeous._ John thought as he looked up at Sherlock.  John wondered why that was his immediate reaction, but he did not care.  The man before him had the most intricate eyes he had ever seen.  He could not decide what color to call them.  They were both blue and green with flecks of what looked like gold, but was there even a name for that?  They looked at him like he was the most important thing in the world.  His voice was the most enticing thing he had heard in his entire life though he had only heard him speak his own name.  It sounded expensive and rich as he looked and the low tone of it sent shivers down his spine.

            "Are you okay?"  Sherlock asked him, pulling him away from his thoughts.

            "Yes, fine.  Um, do you want to sit.  John Watson by the way."

            "Pleasure to meet you.  Recently back from war?"

            "Sorry, what?"            

            "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

            "What are you doing?"

            "Afghanistan I presume then.  Have you found work as a doctor back in London yet?"

            "I'm sorry who are you again?"

            "As I told you earlier, I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective for Scotland Yard."

            "And how did you know those things about me?"

            "Molly told me about the army and the doctor part."  Lies.  Mike had told him.  "I was able to deduce where you were stationed."  More lies.  Mike had told him this also.

            "Deduce?  Fascinating.  Can you tell me anything else about me?"

            John thought he was fascinating?  Usually people just called Sherlock a freak or yelled at him.  Sherlock smiled.  John was better than he had hoped.  He knew that he would have to come up with something Mike had not told him to impress John even more now.

            "You've got a brother worried about you, but you won't go to him for help, because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife.  Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military.  Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists: you've been abroad but not sunbathing.  Your limp, as you therapist thinks and I agree, is psychosomatic. So, the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic: wounded in action.  Am I wrong?"

            "Well only about one thing."

            _Damn._  Sherlock thought.  _What did I miss?_

            "Harry is my sister."

            _Minor details._ He had not been too far off.

            "Did you already order something?"

            "Just this," John said motioning to his beer.  "Did you want to order something?"

            "No."

            "Okay.  How do you know Molly?"

            "She works at the morgue."

            "They let you inspect bodies?"

            "Yes.  Why wouldn't they?"

            "You are not exactly a member of the police."

            "Is that relevant?  I could tell your whole life story just by looking at you."

            "I guess not then,"  John said.  They began to talk, ordering pint after pint until they both became obviously drunk.

            "He did wha' to you?"  John asked.

            "He tried to, uh, stab me because he thought I took his girlfriend," Sherlock said waving his hand, that was currently holding his pint, in the air.  Some of his drink sloshed inelegantly out of it onto the floor and table as he did so.

            "So, do you have a, uh, girlfriend then?"

            "No, not really my style.  You know, my type of thing, my cup of tea, my area of expertise" Sherlock said, leaning toward John for emphasis.

            "Boyfriend?  Which is perfectly fine with me."

            "Is it?  You sound like the monogamous type.  You really wouldn't mind if I was with some other bloke."

            "That's not what I meant."

            "Really?  It what I, um..."

            "Deduced!"  John exclaimed feeling very proud of himself having figured out what Sherlock was going to say.

            "Yes, deduced.  You fancy me."

            "Do not," John said, confident that it was the truth.

            "Liar."

            However, before John could respond, a man came to stand beside Sherlock.

            "Sherlock, who is this?  Is this Mike?"  Greg questioned him.

            "Who is this?"  John asked Sherlock.

            "Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade,"  Sherlock replied using both of his hands to gesture Greg.  "Greg, this is John.  He's my friend"

            "His _friend_ ," said John drawing out the syllables on the word freind.

            "I should have you both arrested for public intoxication."

            "No because then my brother would be cross with you.  He tends to not like people who are mean to me.  He would leave you for sure."

            John giggled.

            "That's enough.  Both of you are going down to lockup right now.  You can sober up there."


	6. A Night in Lock-up

            John and Sherlock sat in a cell together.  They had giggled the whole time it took Lestrade to lead them out of the bar and into the holding cell.  Sherlock was not sure why they were laughing, nothing he was saying was particularly funny.  All he had done was tell John about cases he had been on while making the police seem stupid.

            "How did you know?"  John asked as he fell against the concrete wall of the cell.  _That's going to make my side hurt in the morning._   He thought.

            Wordlessly, Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out John's phone.

            "That's cheating."

            "It is called collecting evidence," Sherlock said twirling the phone in his hand and then giving it back to John.  "By the way, John, we aren't _really_ under arrest.  If we were," his voice dropped to a whisper, forcing John to lean closer so he could hear him, "Gerard would have taken our stuff away."

            "His name is Greg."

            "Shhhh."

            "Are Greg and your brother really a thing?"

            "Yeah, I don't know what he sees in my brother.  Mycroft  is dull and boring.  He's also the entire British government, but he says he occupies a 'minor position.'  All he does all day is paperwork anyways."

            After a moment of silence John said:  "If we aren't really under arrest, I want to go home."

            "No, we're getting let out only when Mycroft comes to pick me up.  Graham texted him while we were getting out of the car," Sherlock said, resting his hand over John's.

            "Greg."

            "I'm sleepy," Sherlock said leaning against John, pressing his forehead against his neck.  "I deduced one more thing," he whispered.

            "What?"  John asked, leaning into Sherlock's touch.  The action of Sherlock touching his skin felt amazing.

            "You don't have a job."

            "Incredible," John whispered into Sherlock's hair

            "Do you want one, a job that is?"

            Before John could answer, the heavy metal door to the cell screeched open.  A man with thinning red hair stood just outside the door looking rather upset.  The stared down his nose at Sherlock in disbelief.  He was dressed way too formal for the occasion in a fitted three-piece suit complete with a deep red tie.  He tapped the umbrella he was carrying impatiently as he waited for Sherlock to follow him out.

            _This must be Mycroft._ John thought.

            "We're taking him too," Sherlock said, gesturing to John.

            "No, I am not taking him too.  I have gone through quite enough trouble when dealing with your _friends_ in the past," Mycroft replied.

            "I'll just tell _Gregory_ what happened Christmas two years ago.  I bet he would love to hear that story."

            "Brother dear-"

            "Lestrade," Sherlock started to yell, "remember when Mycroft said that he was missing Christmas because of work well-"

            "Sherlock please keep your voice down," Mycroft said firmly.  "I will get him out, but he's not riding home with us.  I will give him money for a taxi, but that is it."

            Sherlock smiled and grabbed John's hand.  They walked hand in hand until they were out of the building.  Sherlock pulled him close into a hug.

            "I put my number into your phone," he whispered into John's ear.  Then he let go completely, after giving John the money, and followed Mycroft into the sleek black car that had appeared at the curb.

            John felt a little less complete when Sherlock left him.  The heat radiating from Sherlock's body had felt nice on his skin.  He wanted to savor that feeling forever and was terrified that he was too drunk now to remember it in the morning.  He called a cab and made it back to Baker Street, missing Sherlock by five minutes.


	7. Almost Late

            John woke up exactly eleven minutes past noon.  He felt degusting.  His head ached and he felt sore all over.  The fact that he had on the same clothes on that he had worn yesterday did not help him either.  He groaned as he reached for his phone charging on the nightstand.  The light from his phone hurt his eyes and tempted him to put it back down.

            Scrolling through his phone, John noticed that Sherlock had texted him three times.  Memories from last night flooded back in.  Most of them were hazy around the edges and there were some parts missing.  But, the clearest thing he could remember was the way he felt when he was around Sherlock.  The way that Sherlock took his breath away and the way he made him feel all warm inside whenever he would move closer.  The way he felt when Sherlock had touched him, hugged him.

            He stopped himself there, his pants feeling a little snugger than they had a moment before.  He did not have time for this now.  John looked around suddenly panicked.   Today was the day he had the interview for the job at the clinic and it started in twenty minutes.  A friend was giving up his lunch break to interview him.  He could not be late for this one.

            John decided that he was not going to have enough time to take a showers and hoped that new clothes, some deodorant, and a little cologne would do the trick.  He dashed out the doorway and did not even glance up to see who was at the top of the stair.

...

            Sherlock watched as John frantically scrambled out the door.  He decided that he would go talk to Mrs. Hudson to find out where John was going.  He knocked on her door twice before she answered.

            "Oh Sherlock.  Come in."  She motioned for Sherlock to follow back into her flat.  He went in and sat at her kitchen table.

            "I need some information."

            "On what?

            "John."

            "Sherlock, don't be nosy."

            "I just need to know where he has gone.  He forgot his phone and I need to return it,"  he lied.

            "I'm sure he'll be back soon.  Only left for an interview.  Those things don't take that long.  And I do hope he gets that job.  Good for him to get back into the medical field."

            "Where is he getting a job at?"

            "I don't know.  Just said it was at a clinic and he would be able to pay the full rent soon."

            He would just have to text John to meet him somewhere after instead then.  He shot a text to John and got up to leave.

            "Don't you want something to eat or drink?"

            "No, Mrs. Hudson.  I have work to do.  Thank you though."

...

            "It has been nice to see you again, John.  The clinic would love to have you."

            "Well, thank you for taking the time to meet me.  Thank you so much for the job."

            "Your welcome.  It is the least I can do for an old friend."

            The lunch had gone nice.  There really was not a spot for John at the clinic, but his friend had been kind enough to make a spot for him.  It was only part time for now, however the pay was better than the money he was getting from his pension.

            "I've got to get back.  My lunch break is almost up.  Remember, you start in four days which means you start on Wednesday."  John thanked him again and then decided to stay there a while longer after to finish his meal.

            He was almost finished when someone who he remembered from the first day he moved in and vaguely from last night walked into the restaurant.  The man looked over at him and then towards him.

            "You're Sherlock's friend from last night?"  He phrased it like a question, but they both knew that he knew the answer.

            "Yeah.  Dr. John Watson.  You're his detective friend right?  Greg, right?"  He tried to make himself more official and like the drunken idiot he had been last night.

            "Yes.  Do you mind if I sit here and we talk?"

            "Not at all," he lied.  It felt awkward sharing a table with the main who had "arrested" him last night.

            "What's your relation to Sherlock Holmes?"  He asked as he sat down across from John.

            John could tell this was going to be more of an interrogation than a friendly chit-chat.  "I just met him last night actually.  He was tagging along with an old friend of mine from school.  Haven't seen her since I got back from Afghanistan."

            "Army doctor?"

            "Yes."

            "And you're sure this is the first time you have ever met Sherlock?"

            "I think I would remember if I had met him before."

            Greg let out a sigh.  "I'm so stupid.  I should have know it was petty."

            "What?"

            "Listen, I'm sorry for taking you in last night.  Sherlock's brother, who I'm guessing Sherlock has told you about, said to bring you two in because you were causing trouble."  Greg paused, putting his hands over his eyes and then dragging him down his face.  "Probably told me to pick you up to get Sherlock back for something."

            "Its fine,"  John replied.  He did not know what else to say other than that.

            "What's even worse is now I'm talking to you about it.  I don't even know you.  I have only seen you twice."

            "Hey look.  You did me favor the first time we met.  I'll repay you by listening to you vent about..."

            "Mycroft."

            "Yes, Mycroft."  _What parent gives their kids these names anyways?_ "You have however long your lunch break is."

            "It's my day off."

            "Then I guess we have all day," he replied with a smile.

            They sat and talked about Mycroft for what seemed like hours.  Greg told him about canceled dates, forgotten birthday dinners, and skipped holidays.  The worst of all was the Christmas the Sherlock had been threatening to scream about last night.  Mycroft had told Greg that he could not come because he had not finish a job up in Moscow, but really he had finished up two days prior and had stayed there to avoid Christmas.  Greg had found out by accident when Mycroft's assistant had let it slip, he had promised not to tell Mycroft she had told him.  Greg had mostly been upset that he had been lied too, however he never confronted him about it.

            "Then why don't you break up with him?"

            "I can't."

            "Greg.  He is obviously using you to play this game with Sherlock.  I'm not saying that he doesn't love you or didn't love you at some point, but you can do so much better."

            "And throw away four years?"

            "Have you talked to him about it?"

            "I've tried.  I'm tired of trying.  Every time he blows me off and hides out at his stupid country club.  My kids have never even met him.  Whenever I have them, he goes away on business.  It's like he doesn't want this anymore, like he doesn't want me."

            "Your either are going to have to have a sit down conversation with him or tell him that it is over."

            "I know."  He paused.  "Thank you for listening.  I hope to see you again, with Sherlock next time though.  He doesn't make friends easy and he seems to be comfortable enough with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!


	8. Taking a Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been awhile

            By the time that they were done talking it was four o'clock.  After they had finished taking about Mycroft, Greg had moved on to tell stories about Sherlock.  He barely knew Greg, but it felt like he had known him forever.  When John had left the restaurant, he called Molly.  They talked on the phone for a few minutes before Molly said that she had to get back to work.  They had made plans to meet up after John's first day of work.  After John hung up, he checked his messages and noticed that Sherlock had texted him five times.  He read them all and then decided he would call Sherlock  instead texting him back.  He moved to walk home, knowing that his leg would be paying for it in the morning.  But he did not exactly want to go home quickly if Sherlock were to want to do right then.

            _"Hello?"_

"Hey its John.  I'm the person from last night if you forgotten?"  _If he had forgotten?_ John hit himself in the face.

            But Sherlock only chuckled.  _"Yes of course I remember,"_ Sherlock said.  He had nearly spilled a test tube full of a high concentrated solution of hydrochloric acid on himself when he saw that John Watson was the one calling him.  Sherlock picked up his cell and moved to the other room to look out the window, _"the man with the stunning blue eyes."_ He winced after realizing how ridiculous that had sounded, but then again he had deduced that John was attracted to him so maybe it was okay.  But on the other hand, neither of them had been exactly sober at the time either.  Sherlock would not have normally said something like that, but he felt like John was not the type of person that would make fun of him and call him a freak like others did.  From the way that he had hit it off with John, he was beginning to suspect that Molly had intentionally bailed on them.

            _Stunning blue eyes._ John thought.  _He thinks that I have stunning blue eyes._ Sherlock had given him a compliment.  The man with the perfectly toned body and flawless hair thought something about him was stunning.  "You're not so bad looking yourself."  _What kind of compliment was that.  Maybe if I continue talking, I'll be able to save myself._ "So, I was wondering if you wanted to do something again tonight.  There is a park, the one nearest Baker Street, that is all lit up for Christmas.  The lights look beautiful.  I can text you the address if you want.  But you don't have to go if you don't want to."

            _"No, no.  I would love to go.  I can't be there soon.  But, I can meet you there around nine."_ He needed to go to Scotland Yard after his experiment and tell them the results.  With the level of idiocy there, it would take him much more time usual.

            "Sounds great."  This would give John more than enough time to take and shower and change.

...

            At nine o'clock, John was scanning all the entrances.  He had said that he was on a bench near the big tree in the center of the park, so Sherlock would be able to find him easily.  He was so nervous that he was starting to doubt that Sherlock was ever going to come, but finally he saw him, looking for him.

            Sherlock was even more breathtaking then he remembered.  His shirts clung to his body in just the right way, so that it accentuated his chest and abdomen to reveal his lean muscular frame.  His pants fit him so perfectly and made his already long legs look even more appealing.  Sherlock smiled as he walked over to John.  His mouth his exquisite and the way the his cupid's bow was shaped made John's knees feel weak.

            "Nice to see you again," John said, getting up to shake Sherlock's hand.

            "Likewise," Sherlock said shaking his hand firmly and adding in another smile.  "So, what were you planning on us doing this evening."

            "Just to walk around and see that lights.  If that's okay with you?"

            "Love to," Sherlock said.  He smirked to himself when the began to walk around the park.  He was not going to tell John that he had left his cane on the bench.

            "So, I ran into your friend Greg today.  He's thinking of breaking up with Mycroft."

            "Good for him.  He can do better."

            "Not close with your brother, are you?"

            Sherlock sighed.  "He likes to get into my personal life.  Likes to think he knows how to live my life better than I do."

            "Sometimes I wish I could have been that type of brother though.  I could have stopped my sister from-"  He cut himself off, there was no reason he needed to be telling Sherlock this.  "Anyways, I'm sure that must have been difficult to deal with growing up someone like that."

            Sherlock politely ignored the comment about his sister and continued with, "It wasn't too bad.  He left for school when I was five and he was fifteen.  Was able to graduate three years early."

            "So, he's smart like you then?"

            "He thinks he's smarter, but it only makes him only seem even more dull than he already is."

            John smiled to himself and they continued to walk around the park in silence for another five minutes until they reached an area of the park where there were not as many lights up and decided to sit down on the benches there.  They were sitting close enough so that their legs were almost touching.

            "I was wondering," Sherlock began, "if you need a job, I'm looking for a partner to help me solve crime.  The caseload is almost unbearable and frankly I could use a man with your background so I have someone who can properly wield a gun.  And, you seem to interact better with people than I do.  I tend to rub people the wrong way, I guess."

            "Can I have a week to think about it?"

            "Sure."  _More time for you to say no._

            "I had a great time with you last night.  Getting fake arrested at your brother's request was quite the thrill," John said jokingly.  "I think my favorite part was the look on his face when you were threatening him."

            "Mine too," Sherlock said leaning in, "though I also liked spending time with you."  He said this hesitantly, hoping that John would not shoot him down or it would make him want to leave.  But by the way that John was blushing, he did not think that either of those were a possibility.  He moved at place a hand over John's.

            John smiled and took Sherlock's hand in his.  "Want to keep walking?  There is some place I do want to show you.  It's near the other entrance."

            Sherlock nodded and they got up and walked there holding hands.  When they got to that part of the park, it was nearly eleven.  They had stopped for food from one of the carts on the way.  Sherlock had helped the man who ran the cart with a theft that had occurred earlier by tracking the culprit down and making him return the cash.  John had called Sherlock fantastic and Sherlock had turned his head away to hide the fact that he was blushing.  The park was now relatively empty and the part that they were in was completely abandoned.

            Just as John was about to tell Sherlock why he had brought him there when the black car for the previous night pulled up along the entrance.  John decided that he would go along with his plan anyways and slipped away as Mycroft got out of the car.

            "Sherlock, I understand that you are here with Doctor John Watson.  I would like to speak with him," Mycroft said.

            "Shouldn't you be with Greg?  It is his day off."

            Mycroft grimaced and grinded his teeth, as a failed attempt to hide his obvious anger.  "Is he still here or did he flee your little date?  I know it's hard for you to keep people around but I had hoped that it would at least last more than a day."

            Sherlock looked away, uncomfortable.

            "Do you actually think that-"

            Mycroft was interrupted when a snowball connected with his face.  Sherlock whipped around to see John carrying an armload full of snowballs and had a hard time containing his laughter.  Mycroft turned away and got into his car.  He gave Sherlock one more stern look before rolling up the window and driving away.

            "I can't believe you did that," said Sherlock through a fit of giggles.  "He looked like-"  John threw a snowball at Sherlock and it hit him directly in the chest.

            "Not fair.  I don't have any ammo."

            John closed his eyes and turned around.  "Fine.  I'll give you thirty seconds.  I'll even stay like this the entire-"  Sherlock hit him in the back with a snowball.

            "I wasn't even finished," John said, throwing a snowball back and completely missing.

            "John, I thought you were better than this."  Sherlock threw another one and John stepped to the side to dodge it.  Sherlock stepped towards John to try and hit him again.

            In order to avoid getting hit, John tackled Sherlock to the ground.  They landed on top of each other and Sherlock let out a little "oof."

            John's face landed inches away from Sherlock's.  "You took me here to ambush me with snowballs?"  Sherlock whispered.

            "Yeah," John admitted.

            Suddenly nervous, the smile faded off Sherlock's face.  John was staring right into his eyes and he was staring back.  He was debating whether or not to throw John off of him.

            "Are you okay?"  John whispered softly at Sherlock closing even more distance between them.

            Sherlock mouthed a yes.  He looked down at John's lips and realized how much he truly wanted John.  John's pupils were fully blown and his scent was intoxicating causing Sherlock to fall helplessly into his desire.  He leaned up to meet John's lips.  They were so soft.  John leaned into him and Sherlock put a hand on the back of his head, dragging his hand upwards to softly grip his hair.  John began to suck at Sherlock's bottom lip causing him to let out a low moan.  John deepened the kiss and ran his hands down Sherlock's chest.  John could feel Sherlock's erection pressing against his leg.

            John pulled back, "It's starting to really cold out.  Do you wanna, uh, go back to my flat?"

            "I would like that," Sherlock said.

            They tried to walk back to Baker Street, but it turned into a full run and John could hardly keep up with Sherlock's long legs.  "This way," John said pushing the door to his flat open and dragging him towards his bed.

            John tore off Sherlock's coat before Sherlock pushed him down onto the bed and started to kiss him again.  He licked John's lips and angled himself to deepen the kiss.  All of a sudden John flipped him onto his back and began to press a trail of kisses down Sherlock's jaw line and then down his neck.  He started to unbutton his shirt, kissing and licking every time new skin was exposed.  He moved from his chest, to his stomach, and then put his mouth over Sherlock's clothed erection.  Sherlock gripped the sheets in response.

            John fully removed Sherlock's shirt and then his own.  He leaned down to press a chaste kiss to Sherlock's mouth and then mouthed one of his nipples and rolled the other one in between his fingers.  Sherlock let out another low moan causing John to become even more aroused.

            Sherlock froze suddenly and John stopped what he was doing as Sherlock leaned off the bed to grab his phone.  He knew who it was before he even answered it, since he had set this ringtone specifically for her.

            "Hello mummy"

            The voice on the other line sounded more worried than upset, _"Sherlock, what have you gotten yourself into this time?"_

            "I don't know what you mean."

_"Mycroft just called me and said that you were drunk last night and that your flat underwent a drugs bust a few days ago."_

            "It was nothing."

_"Sherlock, that isn't nothing.  Your father and I are coming to check on you next week."_

            "No, you can't it's Christmas and Mycroft and Greg are staying there then," Sherlock smirked, thinking that he had gotten himself out it.

_"Fine.  Then I guess you'll just have to come out here and join us for Christmas.  No buts and we'll see you then."_

            Sherlock groaned and flopped back onto the mattress.

            "What's wrong?"  John asked.

            "Nothing."

"It doesn't seem like nothing," John said moving to lay beside him.

            They lay together in silence for a few minutes until Sherlock said.  "I have to go to Christmas dinner with my parents."

            "And?"

            "And nothing."

            They lay in silence awhile longer.  "We can just lay here together tonight and I can hold you, if you would like."

            "Yes, I would like that very much."


	9. Greg and Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft stuff in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weeks before finals have been killing me. This chapter is longer than I normally post, to make up for that. Also, I felt that indents on paragraphs were annoying on mobile, so I got rid of those.

When John woke up, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.  John grabbed his phone and saw that Sherlock had sent him a text:

Sorry, emergency at Scotland Yard.

                                    -SH

John groaned and rolled over to put his feet down on the cold floor.  He was slightly upset that Sherlock had not stayed the entire night, but he understood how important solving crime was to Sherlock and the general public.  Still, he wondered what it would be like if Sherlock had stayed until morning.  Would he have cooked breakfast?  Would they have continued what they had begun last night.

John shook his head to get rid of those thoughts.  He did not have anything to do today, so staying in and watching television did not seem like a bad idea.  As he sat down, a loud bang shook the upstairs apartment.

"Glad I don't know that guy," John said to himself.

...

Sherlock had been upset that his brother had forced him to leave John in the middle of the night and go to a crime scene with Lestrade.  But, it was a matter of "national security" and people were "counting on him."  _Yeah right._   If it were that big of a deal, then Mycroft could have taken care of it himself.  But no, he still sulking because Lestrade had gotten into a fight with him over what was "not that big of a deal."  Sherlock was now even more upset that his calculations had been off and it had exploded right in his face.  Luckily, he had thought to wear a protective  mask and it had saved him from the blast.

His phone pinged and Sherlock went up to the roof, in order to escape his failed experiment.

 _"Hello, brother mine.  Do you like the case I gave you?  Very interesting, isn't it?"_   Mycroft sneered into the phone.

"Explosions by a dramatic bomber who calls himself Moriarty: fascinating.  Almost as fascinating as why Lestrade chooses to stay with you."

_"That's none of your concern."_

He could tell that he hit a nerve, but could not tell the exact cause.  Sherlock was now positive on why Mycroft had interrupted his date.  "Now John knows things that even I don't know about you two.  Maybe I'll have him tell me all about it over tea.  That is why you interrupted us at the park last night.  Wanted to know what Lestrade had told John.  Always have to be in control.  And I assume the real reason you called is to know what we talked about earlier this morning at the crime scene.  Shame that your surveillance cameras don't have sound."  Sherlock could almost hear is brother glaring at him though the phone.

Mycroft sucked in air sharply.  _"Oh, and how is John.  Still doesn't know that you are the annoying neighbor upstairs. He is going to find out eventually.  My guess is that he won't be happy when he does."_

"You wouldn't."

_"Wouldn't what?  Tell him?  Heavens no.  I can't wait for the day that he finds out.  I know that you will wait and wait until the whole thing explodes in your face."_

Sherlock was about to retort when he heard footsteps coming up to the roof.  He could tell it was Lestrade.  "Oh, I have to go brother, but I will tell your beloved Gregory all about your immense concern for your tattered relationship when I see him next.  Oh, and here he is now."  Sherlock pressed end as Greg opened the door to the roof.

"You were suppose to be at Scotland Yard an hour ago.  What are you doing up here?"  Greg still had not shaved since last morning.  He had obviously gone straight to the Yard after the crime scene and done a ridiculous amount of paper work, judging by the ink smudges on his hand.

"Just watching the clouds," Sherlock lied.

"Right," Greg said, knowing that Sherlock had obviously been talking to Mycroft judging by the look on his face.  "Do you have any insight at all as to who Moriarty is?"

"No."

Greg loudly exhaled and placed his hands over his eyes and dragged them down his face in both frustration and exhaustion.

"This is going to be a onetime thing, but I will allow you to talk about your relationship with Mycroft to me."

"You will allow me?"

"Take it or leave it."

Greg hesitated for a second.  "Fine, I guess.  You are the least likely to tell him what I tell you."

"That is true."

"Okay," the DI stopped to take a seat on a lawn chair and Sherlock joined him, sitting at the adjacent one.  "So, uhm, yesterday, I was talking to a friend about this," he waved his hand, gesturing as if Mycroft was there and he was indicating their relationship, "and they told me to talk to Mycroft.  Like really talk to him."

Sherlock nodded, knowing that person was John.  "And?"

He was slightly put off by the fact that Sherlock was not trying to guess what happened next.  "I confronted Mycroft.  I was done with me never making me a priority in.  And," he breathed in quickly as an attempt to stop himself from tearing up, but he could feel tears welling up in his eyes.  He continued to speak, but his voice was shaky.  "He said that we could discuss it later.  But then I told him that I didn't know when later was because it never came.  I told him that I couldn't take it anymore."  He turned to look at Sherlock.  "I left him.  I said that I was done and that I had never loved him."

Sherlock put his hand awkwardly on Greg's shoulder as an attempt to comfort him.  "What happened next?"

"He just left.  He turned around and he was gone.  I didn't mean it when I said I didn't love him.  I just wanted to hurt him."

Sherlock realized that was why Mycroft had come looking for John.  "You're better off without him."

"It doesn't feel that way though."

"Don't worry then.  He'll come crawling back," Sherlock said as he stood up to go back downstairs.  "Just make sure he begs and you film it.  I will be needing a copy," he added with a half-smile at the thought of his brother begging for something.

"Thank you, Sherlock," Greg said as he threw his arms around the detective.  Sherlock hugged him back, although it felt weird.  Greg pulled away and said, "Did you call John?"  They had talked earlier at the crime scene about Sherlock's date last night, and Sherlock had complained to Greg about how Mycroft had made him leave John that morning to go there.

"No."

"Why not?"

"He's probably upset about me leaving."

"Call him.  He'll understand."

They walked downstairs and out into Greg's car.  When they were on their way, Greg asked:  "Are you bringing John to Christmas with your parents?"

"I just met him.  Why would I bring him?"

"Mycroft doesn't like him.  It would convince your parents that you aren't on a downwards spiral.  He is approachable and your parents will love him.  He is a doctor and that will also impress your parents.  And also, Mycroft doesn't like him."

"All valid points, but it is too soon in the relationship.  He'll say no."

...

John decided that he was not going to chance it on whether or not the explosion upstairs was toxic or not, so he decided that he was going see what Mike was up to.  It turned out that Mike was busy with work, so John decided that he was going to go for a walk.

As he exited the building, he noticed that he had not used his cane since the beginning of last night.  He smiled to himself and continued on for a good chunk of time until a sleek black car showed up beside him.  He knew that it was Mycroft's car even before anyone opened the door.

"Get in," said Mycroft.

John did as he was told.  He got in and sat across from Mycroft.  He was a bit apprehensive at first, but something about Mycroft wanting to talk to him, intrigued him.  He wanted to know why Mycroft was so utterly obsessed with Sherlock's life.  "Why am I here?"

Mycroft looked at John like he should somehow know why he was there.  "You talked to Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade yesterday," he said, doing his best to keep himself civil.

"Yeah."  His facade-ish attitude was putting John off and making him slightly nervous, like at any moment Mycroft could snap.

Mycroft just nodded to himself.  "What is your relation to my brother?"

John hesitated and opted for the truth.  Something told him that Mycroft was not easily fooled.  "We're just dating."

"Interesting."  He had not expected John to be honest.  "Do you have plans for Christmas Dr. Watson?"

"Yes."

He took out his mobile and began to type himself a personal reminder about John.  "No you don't."

"What?"  He thought he had heard him wrong.

"You do not have Christmas plans.  You have recently returned from Afghanistan and have lost contact with most of your friends.  The friends that you are in contact with, you have lost a close connection with or they are still in Afghanistan.  You cannot be having Christmas with your family.  Your father left your family when you were twelve, and your mother died before you left for war.  Your sister is currently in a rehab facility in Scotland for the second time this year and her wife is in Scotland with her family and your sister for Christmas.  You don't have plans for Christmas."  Mycroft ignored to angry look he was receiving from John and continued.  "I have a proposal for you if you are willing to hear it."

John was angered by the what Mycroft had just said and wanted to flat out just tell him no.  It was different than what Sherlock did.  Mycroft's deductions sounded like they were based off a file of him.  "What?"  He finally managed.

"Christmas with Sherlock, Greg and I, and of course my parents."

"What makes you think that Greg is going to have Christmas with you?"  John asked, assuming that it had not gone well last night.

"That's none of your business," Mycroft said with a dangerous look.  They sat in silence for a few minutes before the car came to a stop.  "Think about it."

John opened to door, got out, and shut the door a little too viciously without replying to Mycroft.  He looked around and realized that he was at Scotland Yard.  It was too far to walk back and he did not have his wallet to pay a cab or to catch the tube.  Just then, he saw Greg and Sherlock walking toward the building from a food cart parked nearby.  He waved and Sherlock immediately spotted him.

When they reached him, Sherlock smiled, not wanting to show any public affection.  "Why are you here?"  He mentally kicked himself for sounding so blunt.

"Your brother actually."  He turned to Greg, "Nice to see you again."

"Likewise.  I'm going to get started."  He added to Sherlock, "Meet me inside."  Greg left, leaving the detective and the doctor alone.

"My brother," Sherlock said, restarting the conversation.

"Yeah.  He invited me to Christmas with your family.  Thinks that I'm lonely or something."

Sherlock hid his excitement.  "What did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him anything."

"Why not?"

"Sherlock, I don't know you.  At least not as much I think is enough to meet your parents."

"Please," Sherlock let his desperation show.

He could tell Sherlock really wanted him to go, but not because he really liked him.  It was more that he was terrified of something that was going to happen while he was there, like he wanted to bring John for back-up.

He sighed.  He has not ready to meet Sherlock's parents as anything more than a friend.  He wanted to be with Sherlock, but did not want to rush things.  "Listen, this is not a 'yes,' but I will take you up on the detective offer.  And if that works out well, I will think about going to your parents with you.  But, not as your boyfriend, but as a colleague."

Sherlock smiled.  He had a week and a half to impress John.  He decide to screw his rule on public affection and kissed John lightly on the lips.  The kiss was brief, but when he pulled away John was blushing.

"So, uh, when do I start?"

"Now," Sherlock replied, dragging John by his jacket sleeve towards the building.  "The game is on."


	10. Falling Out or Making Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I havent posted since before Christmas break

Sherlock let go of John's sleeve as they entered the lift to go to Greg's office.  John was out of breath.  The detective had much longer legs than he did and it did not help that Sherlock had insisted on sprinting down the hallway.

"So," John said, trying not to let on how winder he was, "what's this case about?"

"A bomber named Moriarty has recently decided that I am the perfect adversary for him.  He gives me puzzles with a time limit."

"I'm guessing that it's not pretty if the time runs out."  They stopped moving and the doors opened to what looked like mass chaos.

"It's this way," Sherlock said.  With the swish of his coat, he was already moving towards the DI's office.  Sherlock navigated his way though, with John trying his best to keep up.  Eventually they made it to an office.  Sherlock opened the door and they both stepped inside, the chaos now only a low murmur.

The office was a bit messy with a wide array of files strewn about the room and there was a board with pictures tacked to it, which made no sense to John.  Greg was seated at his desk, looking like he had aged a year in the five minutes sine John had seen him.  He motioned for the detective and doctor to take a seat in the chairs arranged in front of his desk.

"Another clue," Sherlock stated.

"Yeah," Greg said.  He reached into his desk drawer and produced a necklace box.  It was brown with a string tied around it and fastened into a bow.  "And before you ask," he continued as he handed it to Sherlock, "we haven't opened it."

Sherlock yanked on his gloves before accepting it.  He carefully untied it and opened the lid.

John watched as Sherlock slowly frowned.  "What is it?"  John asked.

Sherlock's face had gone emotionless, but his eyes looked frantic.  "I'm terribly sorry John, but I have to go.  I'll call you with the details of our next acquaintance," Sherlock placed the box on the DI's desk and promptly left.

"Wait," John called after him.  He attempted to grab Sherlock as he left, but the detective had already managed to slip out the door.  His curiosity got the best of him and he looked towards the box.

Greg snatched it up and peered inside.  "Oh, God," he said, placing it back on his desk and moving his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

John stared at the box.  He was hesitant to pick it up, but he was already moving his hand to grasp it.  Removing the lid slowly, he looked inside.  John had expected to see a severed finger the way the two men had reacted, however the only thing that was in there was a picture of a man tied to a chair.

Although John was not entirely sure, he was almost one-hundred percent sure that the man in the photograph was dead.  The man's eyes reminded him of the men he had not been able to save during the war.  They were dull and lifeless.  The man's mouth stood unhinged.  There were multiple gunshot wounds to the man's chest, several to the heart.  On the photograph someone had written, " _I will burn the heart out of you,_ " in swirly handwriting.

Not sure of what to say, John put the box down.  "Who was that?"

Greg looked at him, "Victor Trevor," he said, composing himself.  "He was Sherlock's boyfriend in Uni."

"Oh," John said awkwardly.  John got up and moved to the door, debating whether or not he should go and find Sherlock.  The news of a previous boyfriend had shocked John back to reality.  He was going to solve a murder?  (Yeah right.)  What was he doing?  Running around with a man he had barely just met.  Developing a relationship with him.  He was not gay.  (Was he?)  Now he was standing in the office of a man that had been the head of a drugs bust on the upstairs flat, thrown him in jail, and poured his heart out to him about his deadbeat boyfriend, and he had no idea how to get out.  Not out the office.  Not out of this new world that he had been thrust into.

"I've got to go," John said finally, after what seemed like hours.  He pushed the door open without turning around to see how Greg would react.  He blindly made his way to the elevator.  But before he could, someone stepped in front of him.

"He's long gone," she said.

"And who are you?"  John questioned her.  She had not really said anything upsetting, but for some reason John had to fight the urge to blow up in her face.

"Sally Donovan," she replied plainly.  "So, you're the freak's new obsession."

John looked offended.

"Sorry," she apologized.  It had been genuine, but John was still looking for an excuse to blow up.  "I didn't realize you two were in a serious relationship."

"We're not."  A voice in John's head was now screaming for him to leave.

"Sure," she said, not the least bit convinced.

"We're not," he said again, this time a little firmer.  He clenched his fists.  "And he isn't a freak."

"Okay, I believe you.  I know he isn't a freak," she said, trying to calm him down.

That would have worked normally, but John was already confused and angry from earlier.  "Then why would you say that?"  He practically spit the last two words.

"I just tease him a bit sometimes and he insults me back," she said, thinking that he had questioned her about the insults she had said about Sherlock.  At this point, she wanted to leave.  At first, she had been curious about the man Sherlock had kissed outside Scotland Yard, but now John was making her uneasy.

"No, why would you say that we were together?  I don't even like men."

"I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have assumed," she said.  "Just be careful.  If you want him as a friend, you need to know what he is really like first," she added sympathetically.  She turned and quickly left.

When John made it down to the street, he saw Mycroft's car idling.  He ignored it and continued to walk.

...

John had to work a double shift on Wednesday, so they decided to meet on Christmas Eve since Molly's family was not coming until the next day.  When the day finally came around, Sherlock had still not responded to him.  John had told himself that he did not care.

He and Molly had spent the first part of their meal talking about what they had been doing since University.  Molly had spent most of the time talking because John felt awkward about telling her war stories.

"So," she said as the waiter placed food in front of them, "how did the evening with Sherlock go."

"I don't want to talk about it."  John looked down at his food.

"That bad."

He could have just said "yes" and then she would have most likely apologized for leaving them alone that first night, but instead he said, "No."

"What happened?  I thought you two would hit it off."

"You set us up," he ignored her question.

"No, it not like that, uhm," she said getting flustered, "I didn't, but I thought it would be okay that he went even thought I didn't.  I thought you two could become friends."  Her face got red and she refused to meet John's eyes.

Realizing that he may have said it a little too harsh, John apologized.  "I'm sorry.  It's just that something happened the last time I saw him and it made me realize that I had made a mistake."

"What happened?"

"His ex-boyfriend had been," he paused to swallow, "murdered.  And, I realized that I had made a mistake when I asked him out."

Molly tried not to look so surprised.  "You went on a date with Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, okay.  Can we please drop it?  It was a mistake.  It shouldn't have happened in the first place.  I just got caught up in the moment.  It's over now."  John had meant the last sentence to come out firm, but it only sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Have you tried talking to him?"

John shook him head.  "He said he'd be in touch."

"Well, why don't you call him?"

"I can't."

"John," Molly put down her fork.  "Even if you don't have feelings for him, he might have feelings for you."

John clenched his knife and cut his meat with enough force to scratch the plate.  "I can't."

"John, you obviously made some sort of connection with him.  You have to talk to him about it."

He felt his blood pressure spike and grinded his teeth together, trying to avoid hurting Molly's feelings.  "I don't like him if that's what you mean."

"John I didn't mean it that way.  All I was saying.."

"What?  That I should give him a chance."  His blood was beginning to boil.  He was starting to care less and less about whether or not he caused a scene.  "I have to go," he said standing up.  He threw a few bills on the table and walked out before he could blow up.

Just when he thought he could finally stop talking about Sherlock for the night, Mycroft's car pulled up in front of the restaurant.  This was the last thing he needed.

Mycroft rolled down the window.  "Get in."

"No."  John tried to walk away, but the car followed him.

"Dr. Watson, I could kill you right here and no one would point the finger at me.  I suggest you get in."  His voice was oddly calm.  Too calm.  It scared John a bit.

He climbed into the car.  "What?"

"I need to you to tell me what happened to Sherlock the last time you saw him."

"Can't you just ask _'Gregory?'_ " John asked, mimicking his tone.

Mycroft's face turned dark, indicating that the couple were not exactly on speaking terms.  "This is serious, John."

"Fine," John paused to remember the scene.  "He opened a box that, uh, Moriarty?"

Mycroft nodded.

"That Moriarty had sent him.  It had a picture of Victor, I think that was his name, in it.  Then he ran out."

Mycroft's eyes suddenly showed fear, but he quickly masked it.  "Anything else?"

"Yeah," John said, thinking about what was written on the photograph.  "There was something written on it.  Something having to do with hearts and such."  He stopped himself.  "Wait.  Why do you even care?"  From what John had observed, Mycroft did not care about anyone but himself.

"He's my brother.  His loss would break my heart," he paused so that he could shift the conversation.  "Last time I saw you, you said that you are Sherlock were just dating.  Your feelings for him haven't changed in the slightest, but yet you have tried your best to cut him out of your life.  The question is; why haven't you tried to contact Sherlock?," he paused again so John could answer if he wanted to.  "And, that one is easy: you are ashamed of your feelings towards him.  Quite possibly because of the reaction your sister got when she came out.  So, the more important question is; are you going to let that stand in your way?"

"I don't like Sherlock."

"You seem to say that quite often," Mycroft replied passively.

"I'm not gay," John desperately said.

"My dearest Watson," Mycroft said, leaning back in his seat, "just because you're not gay doesn't mean that you're straight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your kudos, comments, and bookmarks!!!


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